"Well, he may be a genius, though I for my part cannot see it. And you, my dear one, do you long to see those countries beyond the sea? I know I do. I am tired of this life, this continual struggle for a bare existence. The same thing day after day, year after year; nothing new happens. Why did M. Bois-le-Duc teach me of an outer world beyond the bleak Gulf of St. Lawrence? Why did he teach me to read Virgil and Plato? He did it for the best, no doubt; but I think he did wrong. He has stirred up within me a restless evil spirit of discontent. Oh! Marie, to think I am doomed to be a fisherman here all my life. It is hard."
"Yes, Noël, it is hard. It has always seemed to me that you with your talents, your learning, are thrown away here. But why not go to Quebec or Montreal? You would have a wider sphere there."
"I would go to-morrow, Marie, if it were not for one thing."
"What is that, Noël?"
"Marie, do you not know?"
"I suppose your reason is that you do not wish to leave your mother," said the girl hesitatingly.
"No, Marie, that is not the reason. My mother would let me go to-morrow, if I wished."
"Then I cannot understand why you stay. You would do much better in Quebec, you with your ability."
"You cannot understand, Marie? You do not know that it is because of you, and you alone, that I stay on in this place, smothering all my ambitions, my hopes of advancement. No, Marie, you say you do not understand. If you spoke more truly you would say you did not care where I went."
"Noël," said the girl gently, and looking distressed, "you know, my dear one, that I do care very much, and I cannot think why you speak to me in that bitter way."